


Words from Strangers

by HypnosThanatosTwin



Series: Words to Find your Soul [7]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Daredevil (TV), Inception (2010), Leverage, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Characters of other Fandoms in the DC LOT Universe, F/M, M/M, Multi, just some fun with Lisa's friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-18 21:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9403280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HypnosThanatosTwin/pseuds/HypnosThanatosTwin
Summary: Lisa has friends all around the world. Some of them have words, some of them don't. Here's how they meet their significant others.





	1. A CIA Agent and a Fraud

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin :) Have fun!

Arthur met Lisa Snart when he was twenty-two, while he was undercover in an Asian country he doesn't want to recall and will never be allowed to talk about. He had been posing as a business man and had watched her walking through the gathered crowd, her nimble fingers snatching trinkets and wallets. It was an opportunity, as it was a skill-set he had missed on this job. There was a healthy amount of distrust in the first few contacts, but soon they had an easy friendship.

She was a free spirit, something he envied in a way (sometimes he felt trapped in the bureaucracy of the government he worked for, and on a lot of his missions he felt unappreciated). But she was also one of the few people without words. 

His words had appeared just after his sixth birthday. They crawled across the small of his back and curled around his side in an easy scrawl. Nine words.

He has known Lisa for almost ten years when he finds a wallet in his duffel bag that is not his and has Lisas metaphorical fingerprints all over it. He finishes his mission in record time and, after looking at the cards and papers in the wallet, it is easy to find the owner of it. 

Mhh, he has never been to Mombasa before. 

He recognizes the man in the papers and follows him through the hot and dusty streets. When he disappears into an apartment, it takes Arthur a few seconds to break in and wait for the man to enter the living-room (the window had been left open, even on the third floor, that was never a safe move). The man startles a little but doesn't seem to be surprised. 

“I believe I have something that belongs to you.” Arthur says and waits, his heart beating in anticipation. He suspects, had suspected since he found the wallet, but...

The man's eyes widen for a split-second and then study him with an intensity as if he could internalize everything that made Arthur with just one gaze. It ends with an easy smile and words that are eternalized on his skin. 

“If it's my heart, darling, you can keep it.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eames curses when he notices his wallet is gone. He had thought he had seen familiar golden streaks in dark hair, but he hadn't been sure. There were only two thieves in the world skilled enough to get by him and one of them was currently touring France. Lisa liked to keep him on his toes and he was already thinking on how he would pay her back for this. 

Three weeks later there is a man in his flat, strict button-up shirt, dark slacks, dusty but expensive shoes. Eames does not expect the words, which start at the back of his knee and curl up around his thigh, to come out of the man's mouth though. 

He scans the guy from head to toe (military, American, dark intelligent eyes, sharp features, _dimples_ ). Something in him sighs in relief and he answers, knowing the words are somewhere on that body and he couldn't wait to explore.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC

 

Hope you liked this :)


	2. A Hitter, a Hacker and a Thief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That blonde thief, waiting for Lisa in Paris? Well, she's not waiting alone.

Parker meets Lisa on the streets, after she ran away from foster-parents number four and Lisa is staying out longer to wait for her brother to finish a job before going home together. They click, even though Parker doesn't do normal and Lisa is such a girly girl at first glance. Parker soon learns to see beyond that though and she is glad meeting her friend, because without her, the soul-mate thing would have been overwhelming.

Her words appear when she is seven and a few months. She doesn't really care as this is the time when she blows up the house of her step-father. It is only later, when she is living with foster-mom number one that she looks at herself in the mirror and sees that there are two. Two sentences. Two hand-writings. Two other soul-mates. She traces both of them with her fingertips. Twelve words and then nine. One line tracing across her abdomen and down her hip, while the other rushes over her side and across her back. Two people that are meant to love her without bounds.

She doesn't know for the longest time, how she feels about that. Meeting Lisa, making a friend, a human connection that doesn't consist of taking but of giving, helps getting her head around this. Sometimes, when she is alone and no-one is looking, she is even exited to meet them. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Nate tries to ignore the man trying to talk him into an act of burglary, but Dubenic is insistent and then the man brings up revenge and Nates dead son. The heat from the alcohol burns hot in his stomach and he tries to ignore the crack in his heart bleeding, but he can't ignore the yawning abyss that is his guilt and helplessness. So he turns towards the man and takes the list of candidates.

“I've heard they are the best?” Dubenic says, trying to sound sure, though not succeeding. Nates eyes scan the three names and he nods. He has come across those three in his time as an insurance agent. Before and after they had formed a team. They had been terrific on their own, but for the last two years, they had been unstoppable. 

“There are rumors they form a triad. Adding another person to the mix might be difficult.” he cautions and Dubenic frowns at him. 

“Do you mean yourself or do you want to add another to the team?” Nate's instincts scream at him and he shakes his head. 

“No, just myself.”

Dubenic smiles at him. “Then there's no problem. I already hired them and they agreed to following your plan.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eliot is eight when the words bleed into his skin. He runs and shows his sister and she grins at him, while his father frowns in the background. They both sober up quickly as their dad steps towards them.

“Show me your words, son.” he demands with a calm but strong voice and Eliot smiles tentatively at his dad and pulls his shirt to the side. His fathers frown deepens as he studies the still burning marks on Eliots skin and the beginnings of doubt seep into the young boys heart. 

“Is something wrong, dad?” he asks and his fathers brown-blue eyes find his. 

“You have two sentences, son. Not that you needed more to make you a freak.” his father turns away and Eliot lets his shirt fall back over his shoulder and neck, biting back the tears that threaten to fall. Anna pulls him into an embrace and shushes him, even though there are no tears.

“You know how he is, El. He'll be sober tomorrow, he'll be happy for you as well.”  
Eliot nods, even though he knows it wont happen. He knows it by the gait of his fathers walk, the position of the almost empty bottle of whiskey, the smell of his fathers breath, which still lingers. It's a very distinctive combination and he knows the outcome of all those factors. 

His small hand comes up and settles on his shoulder, where two sentences, one seven words long, the other eight words, are still tingling. And even though this sensation is one that will never again happen to him, he knows that he will never forget a second of this feeling. 

Like he never forgets anything else.  
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hardison receives his words when he is just about to turn six. He wakes up and hisses at the burn, the tickle like blood that runs across both sides of his ribs. He turns on the light and pulls off his shirt, trying to get a look, but it's a difficult angle and so he tries to tiptoe to the bathroom as silent as possible.

In the stark light of the bathroom and in front of the tall mirror he can see two lines of words running down the side of his ribs, one scraggly and eight words long, the other precise and six words. He frowns, because he didn't know that you could have more than one line, from more than one person. They seem nice, though. He caresses the shorter sentence and giggles as he reads the other one again. He goes back to bed smiling like a loon. 

The next few days he spends his time at the local library computer after school, researching everything he can find about triads. There's the old religious stuff (with pairs the soul is split equally, but the souls of triads can sometimes be split unevenly, making the individual more unstable before they bond) but he doesn't believe that is true, he feels perfectly fine. Then science of course tries to explain why triads even occur (they call them anomalies and Alec begins to hate those texts) but with all the theories he reads, none of them have proof. The biographical accounts at least are interesting (and if Alec sometimes sighs wistfully, while reading the accounts on the meetings of triads, nobody has to know).

He finds out that two of a triad can survive months after losing one of their bond and that sometimes there can be years, before one finds the third person. His fingers slide over the shorter sentence at his side, taking comfort, and over the longer one, cheering himself up. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When they meet it's a mess and everything almost happens all at once. Eliot owes someone a favor after getting away from Moreau and is currently gazing around the gallery trying to figure out an opportunity to steal a jewel-crusted dagger. He makes light conversation with the people around him, when suddenly a young man at the buffet collapses and he is thrust towards him by a woman he had talked to earlier, saying that he is a doctor. 

It's a split-second where he curses his chosen character and struggles as he is not a doctor, but has medical training, at least a little. The split-second is over and he kneels behind the guy, shifting his upper body against his.

“Sh, it's okay, I've got you.” The guy in his arms freezes and Eliot panics looking up towards the blonde waitress looking at them with a curios expression. He points behind her towards a tray.

“Can you give me that screwdriver, there's a little blade at the side.” now she freezes and her eyes widen. Eliot frowns as pale blue and dark brown eyes are focused on him. Then she smiles and what she says almost stops his heart.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Parker is trying not to get too bored, serving drinks and little, puffy shrimp things, waiting for her window of opportunity to come along. Her boredom is broken when a young, dark-skinned man begins to choke and collapse almost in front of her. A little commotion breaks out and a guy in glasses is pushed towards them, hesitating slightly before taking control of the situation with sure hands. Parker can't take her gaze away from the two men on the floor and a curios feeling spreads through her. 

The guy in glasses (a doctor? He doesn't look like one) murmurs reassuringly to the other man before looking up at her and blue eyes meet hers with open strength. 

“Can you give me that screwdriver, there's a little blade at the side.” her mind freezes as she recognizes the first line of her words and then her mind whirls as she studies the man. Dark hair, broad-shoulders, strong. She grins as a thought comes at her and can't stop herself asking.

“Do you like to jump from buildings?” Now his eyes widen and he opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by the guy in his lap, who apparently is not choking anymore. 

“Why, by the warlocks, would you do that, girl?” he asks and her heart soars, her smile splitting wide as she hears her second sentence from his lips. She found them both at the same time!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Alec is looking at his phone, looking if it's time yet for the distraction, so that he can get into one of the backrooms for access to the vaults after shutting down the new security system. It was just about time. He bends over, hand grasping at his throat, acting like he choked on something and didn't need to wait long before there's a commotion all around him. 

Before he realizes what happens however, he is wrapped up in strong arms, that steady his seemingly failing body with remarkable care. It is the almost tender murmur of reassurance from the man though, that almost stops his heart. 

“Sh, it's okay, I've got you.” the man turns and speaks to the waitress standing at their side, but Hardison can barely focus anymore. But then the waitress asks the strangest of things to his apparent soul-mate. 

“Do you like to jump from buildings?” His reply just bursts out of him.

“Why, by the warlocks, would you do that, girl?” Now her gaze fixes on him and he has to admit that she's beautiful. (Should he think that about someone else, when he has just found one of his soul-mates?)

“Because I like the tickle in my stomach.” she replies and he gasps in shock. Both! He has found both of them! At the same damn time! He laughs and turns to look at the man still holding him, noticing how his eyebrows were drawing together in an almost angry line. 

“You have very comfortable arms, do you know that?” the man closes his eyes and makes a sound like something breaks. He shakes his head and pushes Alec away, leaving the gallery with quick steps. 

Alec blinks, confusion and hurt starting to spread through him. Then a hand grabs his and pulls him from the floor. 

“Come on, we have to catch him.” her blue eyes are warm and mischievous, but he can also see that she is hurting as well. They ignore the murmuring and staring people around them and follow their soul-mate outside. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Eliots chest feels too small and the air in his lungs is not enough. His soul-mates, they...

They deserve better. They'll be fine without him. It's okay, they'll have each other, they don't need someone like him. _Oh Eliot, do you want me to beg you not to go? You can leave. You could have left anytime you wanted to, it was just so much fun watching you dance._ He shakes his head, trying to get Moreaus accented voice out of his head. Trying to shake off the blood from his hands.

He can't get their faces out of his head, her blue eyes so clear and excited, the warmth, the scent of his soul-mate in his arms. He's so distracted, that he barely reacts when he is grabbed and pulled back on the stairs to the gallery. Which means he just startles badly and does not punch his two soul-mates in the face. 

“Hey man, it's okay.” the young man tells him, his voice calm and his brown eyes worried. “Come on, breathe with me.”

It's almost funny. A minute ago the man in front of him was choking on something and now he was breathing deeply to help him calm down. Weird thing is, it works. One hand of the blond woman has settled on his shoulder, her touch soothing something inside him.

“I'm not what you want.” he says and closes his eyes. “I'm a criminal, a thief.” There is a moment of silence before the woman starts cackling with a sort of unholy glee and the guy just snorts. 

“Well, just so turns out, I'm a hacker and a thief.” is his answer and the woman just tilts her head, her laughter trailing off. 

“I was here to steal the dagger of Abu Dabi, actually.” is her reply. Eliot blinks. He looks at them, closely and sees the hidden darkness, the hurt from the past and present (distinctive tilt of the hand – abusive childhood, both are orphans from the way they tie their shoes and he can't stand to look at the way the blondes shoulders are sometimes slightly hunched) and a resolve settles inside of him. 

They needed protection. They were strong and had made it this far without dying, but both of them were incredibly cocky (very distinctive stance of the hip) and he could see that they would get into something too big, probably soon. He would protect them.

He reaches out to their shoulders, pulling them towards him, being pulled closer by their arms until their heads are leaning together. Something flares inside his chest, heart, head, bones. The sensation of something coming together, like something broken is sliding back into place, burns itself into his memory. 

“I'm Alec Hardison.” his soul-mate breathes against their lips.

“Eliot Spencer.”he answers in kind and his other soul-mate finishes with: “Parker.”

“Just Parker?” Alec asks and Eliot slides his hand across her shoulder, memorizing the feel of her strong muscles on such a slight frame. She grins and puts a small kiss on the corner of both of their mouths.

“Just Parker.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hhaaa, I'm still so sad that this series did not continue after season 5...  
> Hope you liked this :)


	3. A Thief without Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes life is not about finding a soul-mate. Sometimes it is about finding happiness.

Neal meets Lisa and Len through their fathers, though when you want to be specific, the men raising them had probably never been _fathers_. Neal had been thirteen, Lisa was seven and Leonard was almost seventeen. It felt like a boot-camp for crime. At the end of the meet up, Len had shown him how to shoot and never miss and Lisa had strangely been very helpful for learning to up the charm to calm people, for a child. 

Lewis Snart and his own dad had not been idle either, but his memories of them he'd rather forget. He had been strangely relieved when he heard that Lewis Snart was dead. (He may have sent a Congratulations card to Len in prison and opened a bottle of wine with Lisa.) 

Neal doesn't have words. At least that is what he tells anyone who asks. His words don't matter. He sees them form while he is washing up in the morning. He is almost seven and suddenly he feels a sharp pain just over his heart. He looks into the mirror and can see contrasting, black lines being written into his skin. But as they settle, as the ink seems to dry under his skin, the black turns faint and the words fade into white, silvery scratches. So they don't matter and nobody needs to know. 

It doesn't stop him from falling in love. There are a few before Kate, but she shadows everyone in his thoughts. Her eyes are like the ocean, green and blue and gray and capture his attention every time she looks at him. He loves to hold her in his arms, have her scent all around him, loves to drown in her laughter. When he thinks of loving, of living with one person for the rest of his life, he thinks of her. 

But as everything in his life, nothing lasts. 

Losing Kate breaks him. More than his words turning white and dead just as they appeared. And sometimes he hates that she hadn't been his soul-mate, that he had to continue on without her. 

Strangely those are the times Lisa calls, sometimes even Leonard. The siblings have an uncanny timing to check up on him, most of the time asking him if he wants them to break him out of his confinement in Metropolis and the deal he made with the FBI. He hasn't said yes, yet. Mostly because Peter keeps interrupting those calls with a new case. 

Before he knows it, two years have gone by and he finds himself laughing with Elizabeth and Peter, watching a movie and drinking sweet wine. The world has gone slightly crazy with vigilantes and superheroes in Star City, Central City and there are even rumors about a man in a mask, fighting bad guys in New York's Hells Kitchen. Peter is just shaking his head, glad that he does not have to deal with those guys. 

Neal breathes in and is surprised that his heart has stopped hurting, that the pain of losing Kate has faded into a dull ache. He leans his head against the back of the couch, his shoulder brushing Peters and one of his hands resting against Elizabeth's thigh. He's content. 

A smile slips onto his face as he notices the kids trying to sneak past them into the kitchen for some snacks without being seen by their adoptive parents, but luck runs out for them when Elizabeth turns around. 

“Hey, what are you doing up so late? Didn't we put you to bed two hours ago?” she asks, slightly scolding. Sabine, the oldest at seven, avoids their eyes as all the adults turn towards them.

“Jesse had a nightmare and woke Cody, we wanted to get some warm milk for him?” Neal turns towards the twin boys, who stand close together, Cody with a supportive arm around his brother. He can feel both of the adults at his side melting and Peter stands and walks over to the children. 

“You don't have to sneak around for that, kids.” Peter assures them, his voice soft and soothing. “Come, I'll make us all a hot milk with honey and then how about a story before bed time, huh?”

Neal watches as Elizabeth smiles with amusement and rescues her husband, as he promises hot milk, knowing he can't even cook water without burning something. While she prepares their late night comfort drinks though, Peter arranges the children on the couch and Neal finds himself with Cody cuddled up to his side, while Peter is besides him holding Jesse and Sabine in a protective snuggle. 

All three children have lost their parents to the soul-mate bond. Sabine's father had died in a car accident and her mother had followed in the same day, while the boys mom had been murdered and they had witnessed their dad collapsing with the pain of the broken bond. Neal settles his arm around Cody, dismissing the tiny prick of jealousy in his heart and embraces the warm feeling of family settling over him. 

In a world were children often would lose both parents in a single day, there was a different mentality about adoption, especially of bond-orphans. (Neal was sure, that Len and Mick would have adopted a whole gaggle of kids years ago, if it weren't for their criminal record. (And all of them would have been raised as sarcastic little pyromaniacs.) They would have been asked at twenty-five by one of the institutes and Neal knew both men well enough to know that it wouldn't have stopped with one.)

Elizabeth presses a mug into all of their hands and settles in at Peters side, with Jesse between them. She presses a small kiss onto the five year old's head, while they all murmur their thanks for the honeyed milk. Cody's head settles against Neal's arm as Peter begins the story. 

“Once upon a time, when wishing was still something that would help, there were three brothers living with their father, who was a tailor, and their goat, which gave milk to feed them. One day the oldest son took the goat out to the meadows, making sure that she ate and drank to her hearts content. In the evening he asked the goat: 'Are you still hungry, goat?' and she answered: 'I have eaten so much, not a leaf more I'll touch, meh, meh!' But as they came home-” 

Neal closes his eyes, listening to three brothers being chased away from home one after the other, learning a profession under kind masters and being deceived, only to find strength in each other and take what is theirs back in the end. He falls asleep with a five year old cuddled up against his side and the thought, that his dad had never even read him a fairy-tale when he was a kid. 

He wakes up, stretched out on the couch, a blanket spread over him and listening to the silence that stretches through a house of sleeping occupants. His hand settles over his heart, over his faded words and he presses against them. Who needs a soul-mate anyway? He has found something better.

He's found a family. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :)


	4. Two Russians and two Lawyers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers and brothers in all but blood, funny how that fits together, doesn't it?

Anatoly meets Mick before he meets Lisa or Len. He is young and ambitious and has been sent to take a look at Central City as a potential branch of the family business. After his first week there, he is making his way home from dinner with the Italian leaders in the city, a man stops just in front of him, about the same height, but wider in the shoulders, heavier with muscle. The man looks at him with a wild look in his eyes, a fire burning brightly and Anatoly takes an involuntary step back. He can feel his men behind him hesitate and stop as well.

“So your the guy sniffing out our city.” the man growls and Anatoly settles his hand on the gun, hidden in his jacket. A tiny red dot appears over his heart, making him freeze. 

“What if I am?” he asks and the man grins at him. 

“I see the pizza-people haven't spilled the beans about how this city works.” Anatoly narrows his eyes. The Italians had been strangely hesitant throughout the whole evening, as if they were waiting for something. Apparently this man and whoever stood behind him was the reason. 

“How does it work then?” Anatoly tilts his head slightly and tries not to flinch as the man flicks on a lighter, the sharp sound and hiss of the flame unsettling. He flicks it shut again. 

“There is a hierarchy in this city. We're not against new people, as long as some rules are followed.” the man holds out a strip of paper and Anatoly takes it. It's an address down at the harbor. “Let's talk more tomorrow, 7 pm, you can bring two of your people.”

The man brushes by him and his men, just to have disappeared into the shadows of the city when the target on Anatoly's chest moves away and he turns around. 

He takes Vladimir, because his younger brother is stubborn and they have always been partners, and Dmitri, because he is silent and loyal. 

That's how he meets Leonard and Lisa Snart. Their gazes could cut diamond as they settle down for negotiation and all through the talk Anatoly, Volodja and Dima couldn't stop shivering slightly, while their opponents seemed perfectly fine. Lisa watches the proceedings like a hawk, while her brother is the one talking and the crazy guy from the night before stands a little at the side, flicking his lighter on and off in a lazy, bored way. 

The contracts from the following negotiations are good, still restricting, but more than they had thought they would be able to get. They report back to Moscow and soon they leave Dima and a group of his men behind to establish their business. Mitja promises not to disappoint them.

Between negotiations though, Vladimir hits it off with the younger Snart sibling, getting invited to tour the local bars and get to know the city. Anatoly watches as Leonard rolls his eyes at his sister, but doesn't seem concerned and the older Russian relaxes slightly. Sometimes he joins his brother and they start to strike up an easy friendship with the young woman. 

They leave after three months and fly home to Moscow. They get leadership of the St. Petersburg branch two years later. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-  
Anatoly's words appear three months after his sixth birthday. His mother is guiding his hands through the motions of reassembling a semi-automatic when suddenly there is a sharp pain along the edge of his neck. He hisses as he slaps his hand on the aching line. 

His mum looks up with a frown and then a light of understanding enters her eyes. Her slender hand settles over his small fingers, warm, reassuring.

“Let me see, Toljenka.” she demands softly and he pulls his hand away. Anatoly watches his mothers blue eyes as she reads his words, her lips silently trying out the words before she reads them aloud. He frowns at what he hears. 

“That sounds funny, what is it?”

“It's English.” she explains. “It means -”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Vladimir is almost eight when his words appear. He stands at his brothers side, the hand of his aunt Elvira on his shoulder. It should have been raining, he thinks as the casket is lowered into the ground and they start to say their final good-bye to their mother. Instead the sun shines warm and comforting. Tolja takes his hand, Vladimir grasps it firmly and follows his brother to throw their hand-full of earth into the hole that seemed to gape before them. They endure the hand-shakes and many condolences, all the while their aunt stands at their side, her hazel eyes blazing with fire. She would come home late at night in a few weeks, washing blood from her arms and face and would look firmly at them as she told them that the blood for their mothers death had been paid. 

After it is all over, after the drinking and the storytelling, the laughter and the tears, after everyone else has left and all that remains is his brother and aunt, that's when the pain finds him. They are settled on the roof of his aunts house, leaning against each other, exhausted but warm, watching as the horizon turns from dark blue to blazing pinks, reds, oranges and blues. Vladimir hisses and Anatoly turns towards him with a questioning frown. Vladimir just pulls his arm out of the blanket and his eyes widen as words seem to be written into his skin. Black lines seem to be scratched just under the surface, ink bleeding dark against pale skin. He caresses his fingers across them and is surprised to feel the lines have a different texture, that he can feel them when closing his eyes. He knows his brothers are smooth, his aunts as well, his mothers had been too. 

“They're English as well.” Tolja murmurs and his aunt gently takes his hand. For the first time in days her eyes soften and the blaze of the sunrise reflect in them as she looks up at him. 

“They are good words.” she says and he knows what she means. Their mothers words had been a simple _Hello_ and their aunts words were a _Good Evening_. Anatoly and he were lucky, in that their words were not normal conversation starters.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

After Central City, after St. Petersburg and making sure Moscow did not get too greedy on their turf, they leave their business in the capable hands of Sergej, as Serjoschka could handle a small army marching in without flinching (and had that happened, he would have dealt with it, cleaned up and not have a trace left before they would've returned), and make a trip to New York. 

It's more pleasure than work, though aunt Elvira insist on them taking Semyon with them. 

“These uncivilized Americans.” she mutters as she hugs them good-bye. “You can never be too cautious with them.”

“Yes, aunt Elja.” they chorus and ignore the mischievous laughter in Semyon's eyes. That quickly turns into horror as their aunt turns around and hugs him as well. 

“And you my dear Senja, you keep them safe. If I have to fly over there in one of those death machines to rescue all of you, you will find out first hand why they are all scared of me.”

“Yes, mam!” he nods, eyes wide. She nods as well, satisfied and then sighs.

“Don't do anything stupid, I'm looking at you, Volodja.” Vladimir huffs and tries not to roll his eyes. So he had a little bit of a temper, no reason to already blame him for things to go wrong. He raises an eyebrow at her, implying he knew exactly where he got that temper from. He leans down towards her and kisses her cheek. “Look out for Toljenka, he has a soft heart.”

His own blue eyes meet her hazel gaze and he sees her recognizing her sister in his eyes and Anatoly's smile. “I know, I always do. We wont be gone that long. You be careful as well, aunt Elja.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Vladimir is more of a night life person, so Anatoly is mostly left alone during their days in New York. It doesn't bother him, his brother is nine years younger and after taking two days to recover from a night out with his brother, while said brother didn't even bother to pretend he felt bad, he let Volodja party on his own and enjoyed the quieter life. At least Semyon was thankful for that. It was a lot easier to shadow one of his bosses around the city, when he was looking at art or tried out different cafes and checked out book stores. 

Anatoly is currently looking through the isles of fantasy novels (he's got crime when he's at work, he does not need it while relaxing) when he notices a couple arguing a row across from him. 

“Foggy, that's ridiculous. No-one would buy you being a butcher, you'd probably be your best customer.” the sharp-edged, though admittedly beautiful blonde mocks her friend. The man huffs, his blue eyes sparkling, as he pushes back strands of longish, dark-blond hair from his face. 

“Are you implying that I'm eating too much, Marcy?” he asks her and looks down at himself. Anatoly can't help but let his gaze slide slightly as well. He doesn't share the womans opinion, but he had always preferred his lovers with a little more substance to them, though the man was far from fat. There was a roundness to his face, that belied the broad-shoulders and straight back and maybe an implication of softness around his belly, but most normal people have those (at least the ones not being mob henchmen do). What catches his attention though are the eyes. The eyes and the smile. 

“I am not implying anything, though if you bark you must be bitten.” the woman snickers and makes her way to the next shelf on the other side of the room. The man (Foggy?) shakes his head and looks down at the book in his hand, muttering. 

“There's no luck with that woman.” 

Anatoly tilts his head to the side, considering this man in a cheap suit, with long hair, eyes like the ever-changing sea and a smile like sunshine and comes to a decision. 

“That depends on your definition of luck, I believe.” he speaks towards the man, ignoring how the words turn slightly sinister with his strong accent. The man whirls around with wide eyes and those orbs seem to assess him with one glance. 

“Oh my god, it's my lucky day!” It is like he has been holding his breath for the last thirty years and now it was released and he could breathe new air. He took a step forward, noticing the man do so as well. 

“I'm Franklin Nelson, but call me Foggy. Wow.” Foggy breathes, disbelieve and excitement coloring his voice. Anatoly nods and grasps his soul-mates hand, entwining their fingers and making them both gasp as something seemed to bloom inside them. 

“Anatoly Ranskahov.” he introduces himself and can feel the curious eyes of the woman from the far side of the room. “How about a coffee? There is a nice place just down this street.” he asks and Foggy blinks and his eyes seem to shine with pure joy, while Anatoly looks down at him and tries to take everything in, all the nuances he can read, all the details he can grasp. 

“Yes.” he agrees happily. “Yes, let me just call my partner, he needs to know I'm not coming back to the bureau today.”

“No problem, I have to make a call, as well.”

After calling his brothers phone and leaving him a message (I'm taking my three days of synchronization, see you next Monday.) he goes outside and waits for Foggy to finish his call. It takes only a minute more, where Foggy waves good-bye to his friend, and their hands are entwined again. They start their way down towards the cafe.

“I would like to be traditional.” Anatoly says softly and his soul-mate looks at him with understanding.

“The three days of connecting? I've heard about that, what are they exactly?” 

“The first day is about the past, telling each other about our childhoods, family, friends and lessons learned. The second is about the present, who are you, who am I, what is it that we want from life, how do we fit together.” he caresses his fingertips across Foggys hand. “The third is for getting comfortable physically, but most mix that in with the first two days.”

Foggys breath is a little shorter than before, but his eyes are sharp and seem to look right into him. 

“That does sound very reasonable.” he says and Anatoly squeezes his hand slightly, trying for comfort. “Let's do it.”

Anatoly smiles and can't quite remember the last time he felt so real.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Vladimir swallows the last of his drink and leaves the bar before he can think better of it. He shared a few celebratory drinks with Semyon, but the man had refused to get to the stage to actually be drunk, citing his duties as a bodyguard. They would have to save the big party for later anyway, for when his brother would return from his three days of synchronization. Vladimir sighs and makes his way down the street, planning to walk back to the hotel to clear up his head. 

He didn't really know what to think about Tolja finding his soul-mate. He is happy for him, sure. He also kind of feels like he lost him, too. Which was ridiculous, as they had always been side by side, taking on the world together. Vladimir starts to hum under his breath, barely noticeable to the normal ear. He's been walking a few blocks when something from the corner of his eye catches his attention. 

There, just at the entrance of an alley had been a flash of something and when he tried to ignore the sounds of the city around him, he could make out noises of a struggle. Vladimir made his way over , leaning his head to get a look into the alley. Five guys, broad-shouldered and intimidating were cornering a guy in a suit, wearing sun-glasses and clutching a blindman's stick. The Russian mob leader made a disgusted noise in his throat and stepped forward.

“You thought our boss wouldn't find out about you guys sniffing around our business?” one of the goons snarled at the blind man and shoved him further down the alley. 

“I was kind of hoping he would find out.” the man in the glasses said calmly, though Vladimir can hear the anger behind the calm, the rage. A shiver of excitement runs down his spine. “I've heard what you did to these girls, what you are still doing. When we're through with you, you'll never be able to lay a finger on anyone again.”

The goons chuckle menacingly, preparing to strike. Before they could lay a hand on anyone, though, Vladimir makes his move.

Taking the last steps with a powerful sprint for momentum, he rams his fist into the first guys stomach. The guy doubles over and gets his nose broken by the Russians knee slamming into his face, while the other four gasp and shout in surprise. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees a whites stick landing fast and painful across calves of goon number two, then striking across his back, neck and head as he tumbles to the ground. Vladimir is taking down goon three and gets a punch to the shoulder from goon number four. An elbow blocks the next punch from goon four and he happily kicks the guys feet out from under him, kicking him in the stomach and finishing him off with a kick to the head. 

He looks up and sees goon number five is already down and unconscious. Huh. 

The blind man is smiling in his direction, his teeth slightly blooded from a split lip. 

“I feel like a damsel in distress.” he drawls with amusement. Vladimirs heart beats loudly in his chest, his breath suddenly coming shorter than the short fight should have made him. He laughs. 

“I don't think you fit into the category.” he answers, accent strong and he enjoys seeing the shocked look on the other mans face. He steps closer, over the downed goons and carefully touches his soul-mates hand. He startles slightly, but then grabs his hand more firmly. Yeah, definitely no damsel. The callouses on that hand speak of weapons training, not guns, something else. Pride fills Vladimirs chest. 

“Vladimir Ranskahov.” he introduces himself. The smile that meets him is like staring into the sun. 

“Matthew Murdock.” his soul-mate steps even closer his free hand reaching towards Vladimirs face, questioningly. Vladimir leans towards them and his breath shudders in his chest as light fingertips learn the lines of his face. “Ja tibia vizhu.” The simple sentence makes his heart skip. 

“You learned my language.” he whispers against exploring fingers. Matt tilts his head and Vladimirs gaze catches Cyrillic letters peaking out from under his collar in his handwriting. They read out in English, but they are written in Cyrillic.

“You learned mine.” is his answer and they both are breathless. The hand exploring his face has long stopped, with the thumb at the corner of his mouth and Vladimir can barely resist to open his lips for it.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, because that seems polite and his aunt had tried to raise him with manners. There was fire lurking in the smirk that met his question. Matt removes his glasses and he tries not to feel the loss at loosing those fingertips against his skin. They are back almost immediately, cupping the side of his jaw. 

“Never ask me that, Volodja.” his soul-mate breathes against his lips. “You'll know when I don't want to be kissed.” 

“Matweijka.” he whispers and enjoys the shudder going through Matt. He is a beautiful man. “I can already tell, this will be a lot of fun.”

They both laugh into their first kiss, the taste of blood on their tongues and the groans of bleeding goons at their feet. 

There was a sun blooming in his chest, a warmth he thought he had lost many years ago. A thrill runs through his bones. This blind man with uncanny grace and awareness, not hiding anything from him, like he had moments before when he had been facing the goons. He is a puzzle and an adventure he can't wait to explore. Every single facet of him. 

Even if it took him a lifetime. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun finding all of the Russian nicknames for everyone, because apparently, that's what they do, never calling each other by their real names :D
> 
> Ja tibia vizhu. - I see you. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this glimpse into the life of others in this universe.


End file.
